Wanderer
by Weirdly
Summary: Lord Voldemort has won. All that is left of the Order of the Phoenix is a few people, and muggles are now aware of the wizarding world. Now, there is an important task for Ginny Weasley to take. Change Fate. REPOSTED!
1. The Prologue: To Assauge Confusion

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do own this theory detailed below except for one part taken from Sir Isaac Newton. I do not own Remus Lupin, as much as I wish I do -- oh, whateever; I don't own anything that is owned by the people who own the Harry Potter books, movies, and merchandise.**

**A/N: This is an ALL NEW first chapter. Yay! Yay! Yay!**

**Happy reading. Hopefully it'll clear a few things up in the later chapters.**

**Oh, right: I've reposted (or am repostieng) this entire story. So, yeah. Happy reading. Yay.**

_Time and Fate, the two being so interwoven that one cannot separate them, are unpredictable things, at first. But when you get to know their patterns—and there are patterns—they becomes clear, beautiful, and easy._

_There are six basic rules about time and fate that must always be considered._

_The first: **Fate likes to stay the same.**_

_The second: **Fate is fluid.**_

_The third: **Time does not flow in even intervals.**_

_The fourth: **For every action in fate there is a reaction.**_

_The fifth: **It is not the place of humans to change Fate and Time.**_

_The sixth: **The Magick will allow Fate to be changed for the sake of goodness, purity, and innocence.**_

_If a man lives in a corrupt world that affects and damages innocence, purity and goodness, he may use an implement to travel back in time to change Fate. Normally, one cannot change Fate if they travel back in time; it will just happen in the original timeline as well._

_However, if goodness, innocence and purity are being seriously threatened in the general public, one can indeed change Fate. If one does that, Fate will merely change all pertinent directly to the change that was made._

_For instance, the man going back in time kills the person who caused the more major corruption in his world. There would be a moment of change, and then the man (or indeed anyone making a change) would be the only one to remember the world before the change of Fate and that there truly was a change of Fate._

_Even though it was changed, the first rule applies. If so-and-so and what's-her-name were married before Fate was changed, thus they will be married still after. Indeed, Magick goes out of its way to preserve the innocence, purity, and goodness in the world before the change in the world after the change._

_The second rule pertains to the fact that it is possible to change Fate; and the fifth and sixth rules are about that as well. It is _possible_ to change Fate, but Magick may or may not let one do so._

rest of section lost to water damage

_There is a long-concealed way to travel throughout Time freely. It is one of the most Ancient Magicks that ever was, but it is truly easier than it looks._

_Understand that Time is in one line. It may change with the changing of Fate, but it is still one line and easily accessible._

_All one has to do is make a special potion and perform an Ancient Ritual (both described below) on the apparatus being used. The apparatus used is optimally a time-traveling device already familiar._

_One can travel, with the apparatus being used, to any point on the current timeline in the same physical location. One cannot access a timeline previous to a change of Fate, although the future is indeed open to traveling as is the past._

directions on making the time-traveling apparatus detailed

-excerpts from Ofe Anciente Magickes

translated from old dialect by Remus John Lupin

**A/N (#2!): Hi again. :P That was a smiley. Oh my oh my. I'm listening to the Beatles right now. Whee. I'm rambling. Sorry.**


	2. A Chapter: For Your Reading Pleasure

**Disclaimer: You saw it in the first chapter. I don't own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Well, here it is.**

Ginny Weasley took a deep breath. She quieted the monster of her fear that coiled in her chest (_"Ice," she thought, almost a mantra, "I need to be ice."_) and strapped on all her gear: guns, blades, poisons, potions, and several other tricks of the trade found only on an assassin.

See, the redhead was no longer the cheery, happy—if tainted by darkness a little—Gryffindor teenager that she had been. The war had changed all that. It had changed everything; taking her love away, taking her innocence and purity away, taking away her hope, taking away her optimism. It had given her something, though—Voldemort made sure to make every single person but his Death Eaters werewolves—and with that curse came advanced senses, speed and agility. Beneficial for Ginny's profession. But Voldemort still liked to see all the people tear each other apart as wolves, on a full moon. He enraged the wolves purposefully. It bears repeating: he was an evil, literally soulless, man.

He even, Ginny reflected often, indirectly took away her trademark Weasley red hair and left it pure white. That was what came of using battle-magic non-stop for a year or two and then touching silver as a werewolf and living.

She didn't even know how long it had been.

But now, on Remus' orders (Remus Lupin was both a pre-Second Rise werewolf and the Head of the ultra-secret organization, the Order of the Phoenix, which Voldemort thought he'd wiped out), she had the ability to change all of that. All of that.

Ginny's brown eyes flared, making them seem almost red. There. She was in a fearless battle-rage—well, not the traditional barbarian Viking type. The battle-rage that Ginny could place her mind into was cold and calculating. Worthy of the master assassin Ginny had become.

Now was the most important task Ginny had ever had. The wizarding world was in bondage to Lord Voldemort, having lost the war. But Ginny now had the power to change all that.

The one last chance.

Maybe…maybe there was hope. Hope, with the cold, hard eyes of an assassin and the just as cold blades of her dagger, the worn wood of her wand, and the polished metal of her gun. The wire that could slice off heads like cheese, the poisons she kept, and the blowguns armed with surprisingly fatal darts. The world could not sink any lower, but hopefully now it would rise high.

Ginny held the time-turner that she had gotten off the underground market as she stood in an alley near her destination, utterly concealed from Voldemort with her—interesting—talents. The time-turner, thankfully, was not tainted or corrupted by Dark magic as nearly everything was these days. The black market now was really profiting off items not tainted by Dark magic; becoming quite a white market instead.

There—there was the green dial on the outer rim of the Turner. Turn it so: once, twice, three times. Turn it ten times. Ten times for fifty years. Fifty years back, in this place in London. Where the young Tom Riddle resided in an orphanage.

Colors swirled around and around and around Ginny. It nauseated her, and she had to retch a couple of times in the alley—cleaner, now, and exposed—before she got a sense of her surroundings.

"Come get yer fish right 'ere!" a raucous voice yelled. "Right 'ere! Fresh fish!"

Ginny straightened her black trench coat and made sure that her wand, her guns, her blades (many, many daggers and a short-sword), her little vials of poison, and her assassin's tools were not visible and easily accessed. Then she stepped out of the alley (she had carefully positioned herself in her time to be very close to the remains of the orphanage) and right in the middle of sunlight.

Sunlight?

Oh, right. This wasn't the world where Voldemort reigned. This wasn't the world where it was constantly raining, as if nature was crying for the world, weeping her heart out. That was Voldemort's world.

And soon he would not exist.

The gates of the orphanage rose up sharply in front of Ginny. They were wrought iron, imposing, but Ginny was not intimidated. Little had the ability to really intimidate her anymore, but the orphans playing in the playground just beyond the gates almost did. Having lived so long in fear and among others who feared, Ginny was almost scared to see so many small children so carefree and happy. Well, happi-er.

Except for one handsome eight-year-old, who still looked miserable, the orphans looked utterly cowed by the world outside the gates and by the gates themselves. And that eight-year-old was an eight-year-old who made Ginny's insides lurch with fear and her blood run colder than it already was. She had to keep reminding herself that he was not Lord Voldemort yet—he was no danger yet—and thanks be to whatever diety, she could keep her face utterly blank.

"Yes?" a monitor replied to Ginny's finger to the doorbell.

"I've come to see if I can adopt a child," Ginny said pleasantly. Her face lit up in a smile. It made her look pretty, notwithstanding her white hair and pierced tongue that she really could not disguise. Both gave her a real punk/goth look, especially with the added ensemble of black trenchcoat and black leather pants and multiple other piercings.

"Today isn't an adopting day…" the monitor looked disappointed, and so did the children who had crowded around the fence right when they saw her.

"Oh, but I so wanted…" Ginny trailed off. "Could I at least speak with some of them, and come back to adopt one or two later?"

"Of course!" the monitor exclaimed, and the children's faces cheered up by several margins. Ginny felt a flood of pity for them—she was an orphan, too. Because of the eight-year-old standing there, looking at her.

"Pick me!" a small girl shrieked. Ginny smiled at her, slipping in through the opening gates.

"I might…" Ginny winked at her. "But I wanted to talk to everyone, each of you, in a room separately. I want to see whether you'll suit me…"

"Me! Me!" the kids jumped up and down.

"I know," Ginny enthused. "I'll just pick you all randomly to talk, okay? Then we'll see what we can do."

"You can go to the living room," the monitor said. She pointed it out. "The children will also help you get there."

"All right," Ginny exclaimed. "Now, don't be afraid of me because I look like the crazy person in jail, okay? I'm nice underneath. And I really want a son or a daughter."

"Me first," a little girl announced and pushed her way to front of the line. There were about twenty children out there, not including the evil that was Tom Riddle, who didn't count as a child.

"How about you?" Ginny said, pointing to a little boy. "I said I'd pick you all randomly."

She led the boy into the living room, sat him down, draped her trenchcoat on the back of a chair, and adopted a very serious look on her face.

"Listen," she said. "This is a very deadly secret that I am about to tell you."

The little boy nodded and imitated her serious face.

"You must tell no one until I leave the orphanage, all right?"

"'Kay," the little boy said.

"Do you promise? Blood promise?"

"Bloo' promise."

"I'm here on a mission," Ginny told him. "I can't adopt anyone. But don't tell anyone, all right?"

"A'right."

"I may see you again when you're older. And then you can really talk about it with me."

"A'right."

"Good. Then, next."

Most of the conversations went this way. Except for one little girl—Penelope—who was two and had somehow sneaked into the group of older kids. Ginny found out, by way of a slight temper-tantrum resulting in a floating object that had not been Ginny's handiwork, that the little girl had magical abilities. Not the most pleasant way to find anything out, but it worked. Planning to deal with her later, Ginny told the little witch to stay very still and hide in the trenchcoat that was presently draped over a chair-back. And most importantly, not to move when any noise was made.

Then, of course, there was Tom Riddle's interview. Ginny had chosen him for last.

He stepped in gracefully and closed the door.

"You're not really here to adopt a child," he stated.

Ginny dropped the pleasant mask and pulled out her wand and a dagger, dropping into a crouch. A little bit of surprise was reflected in Tom Riddle's already evil, dark eyes, at the sudden change from friendly woman to deadly, sexless assassin.

"You're right," Ginny agreed, with a feral smile. "Can you guess what I'm here to do?" For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle was scared. He could sense his death, trapped beneath Ginny's gaze like a rabbit is trapped when a snake gazes at it. Tom Riddle still was merely the rabbit, though he would soon be the snake.

"_Avada Kedavra_," Ginny whispered. A jet of green light shot from her wand and struck Tom Riddle's heart.

Time slowed down as Tom Riddle sunk to the floor, lifeless. For a moment, clocks stopped dead in their tracks, and not just because of a mass breaking of cogs, either. And then—then it changed direction.

All over the world, people—wizards and muggles—felt that gentle tug of fate utterly resisting a change. Professor Dumbledore, Transfiguration teacher and Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, felt this. And read more into it. Fate had been changed. Time had been meddled with. He Apparated to the location of the disturbance quickly.

But by the time he arrived, Ginny had sunk a dagger with a prepared note stuck on it deep into Riddle's chest. She grabbed the little girl out of the trenchcoat, and spun the little blue dial on the time-turner frantically, randomly, to bring herself into the future.

How far into the future didn't matter; all that she needed was to get out of here. She might as well be a time-hobo, Ginny thought, amused. She wasn't going to belong in any time, now. Might as well enjoy it. Try to get back a normal life—at least, as normal as possible. At least she had Penelope to help out with some normality.

Professor Dumbledore opened the door just in time to see Ginny's face, as it whirled away in the colors of time. He turned his attention to the note pinned to Tom Riddle's chest by a dagger and to the black leather trenchcoat lying on the seat of the chair now, from the little girl's hasty exit.

_Who would be terrible enough to murder a child?_ he thought.

Dumbledore shook his head. It was not his place to wonder about the motives of a crazed murderer when the victim of the crazed murderer was right in front of him. This child was being watched, too…such potential for greatness. But…oh, well. The note was there, waiting to be read. Begging to be read. Dumbledore took the dagger out of the body (a poisoned dagger, as he could see by its sheen), and gingerly grasped the note.

The lettering was calligraphic and a work of art. It read: _By my hand, the hand of the greatest warrior of all time, Warrior Master and Assassin Master Ginevra Molly Weasley, born AD1980, justice for the future has been dealt and an evil fate has been averted. I travel the river of time freely now with the daughter whom I have just adopted and already love. I have made certain with this act that children will now be loved as they deserve in the future without living in total fear. Remember my name and honor me when next we meet. Keep this note._

_-Ginevra Molly Weasley, Assassin Master of the Highest Order, and Ruler of the Guild; and Warrior Master of the highest degree._

**A/N (#2!): Yeah, sorry, I don't have anything deep and meaningful to say except: _Here I stand, head in hands, turn my face to the wall. If she's goneI can't go on, feeling two foot small. Everywheere people stare, each and everyday...I can see them laugh at me, andI hear them say: "Hey, you've got to hide your love away...Hey, you've got to hide your love away..."_**

**Wowie. In case you hadn't noticed, I was listening to and typing down You've Got To Hide Your Love Away by the Beatles. Great song, great song. It's on Help! in case you didn't know.**

**Bye.**


	3. Another Chapter: Only Here Because of Me

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: Here's another chappie of the re-postation. Hip hip hooray.**

The colors swirled again, and Ginny winked into existence in that same building. It seemed to still be an orphanage, judging by the kids resting on cots inside the room that gasped at Ginny's sudden appearance out of thin air. But Ginny ignored them temporarily, to pick up little Penelope and comfort her. The poor girl was scared out of her wits, but only wept silent tears.

"It's okay," Ginny whispered, hugging the small girl. "We just traveled a little. I'll explain more to you later, all right?"

" 'Kay," the little girl agreed. Her face lost some of the 'trying not to cry' expression, and she took the intiative to introduce herself. "I Penelope."

"Good," Ginny said. "I'm Ginny, and I'm your new mother." Both Ginny and Penelope grinned in delight before Ginny's reverted back to serenity. "Now, watch me. These people saw us come in. We don't want them to remember us. So watch what I do: Obliviate." Ginny Memory Charmed the now fearful spectators casually.

"Wow," Penelope said, as she watched the kids' faces lose fear and smooth out.

"Stupefy Tempus," Ginny whispered. They fell unconscious. "Now, we'll get out. Hold on very hard to my arm, and don't let go until I tell you. This will feel very strange."

Penelope nodded, and latched onto Ginny's arm with such force that Ginny winced. Destination…Determination…Deliberation…

Good. There was the squeezing feeling. And here they both were in front of the Three Broomsticks.

The Three Broomsticks. Another place that had been overrun by the Death Eaters. Ginny was so busy staring nostalgically at it that she almost forgot to check Penelope for any signs of Splinching. Both of them were un-Splinched, though, thank goodness. It had been a while since Ginny had Apparated, especially since Voldemort and his Death Eaters had monsters in the Void that once passes through to Apparate. Those would get you, even if you didn't splinch yourself because fear was messing with your determination.

Ginny entered the pub, already noisy for the lunch crowd. Madam Rosmerta, a very young Madam Rosmerta, was barkeeping and waitressing. She was just as efficient as Ginny remembered, spotting the pair and bustling over to them.

"What can I do for you?" she asked cheerfully. In truth, she was a bit scared of this menacing figure, all in black with such white hair, but…the girl had a little child and the child was clinging onto the girl' hand like there was no tomorrow.

"A room, please," Ginny said. Instinctively, she tensed—the only people in her future that were cheerful were the Death Eaters and the worst of the spies, the ones who would quickly realize that they actually sucked at the act of spying and then would just plain attack you. Ginny had to forcibly relax herself. It wouldn't do to appear guilty in any way, right? She wasn't sure what year this was, whether there was any evil person around…

"Right-o," Rosmerta agreed. "I've never seen you here before. What's your name?"

"Um…" Ginny thought about it. Should she tell her real name? That would mean possibly revealing her position. "Er…Genevieve Wilson."

"All right," Rosmerta said. She was a little suspicious, but…this girl was paying. So, whatever. "Room twelve."

"Thank you," Ginny said. "Penelope, come along."

"Yes Mummy," Penelope said and latched onto Ginny's hand once again. Ginny was a little startled at Penelope calling her 'mummy' but then, she had told Penelope that she was her new mother. At least, she would be acting as such. So Ginny's face softened, and she grew irrationally proud at being called 'mummy' by a little two-year-old.

Hoisting Penelope into her arms, Ginny climbed the stairs of the Three Broomsticks.

"Here we are," announced Ginny, to Penelope when they came to room number twelve. "See? There's a twelve." She pointed to the number painted on the door. "Twelve." Penelope nodded and slipped down from Ginny's arms into the room, which was a pleasantly simple, white-painted one, with stocky oak furniture.

Ginny sat Penelope down (she had been running around the room and squealing) on the smaller bed, which sat right next to the double-size, sleigh bed.

"There," she said, tucking Penelope's covers up to her chin. "Now, I'm going to tell you a story, and every bit of it is true. All right?"

"Yes, Mummy," Penelope said. She was happy, with her new mother, warm and safe.

"There was a bad man, who grew up from Tom Riddle at the orphanage. Remember him?"

"Yes." Penelope shuddered. "Scary."

"When he was a man, he was even scarier, and killed many, many people. But he didn't kill me, so I decided to save the world." Penelope gasped. She looked happily scared, like she was watching an enjoyable horror film. "I went back in time to when you lived in the orphanage. And I killed Tom Riddle, the little boy. Now the world is safe from him, but I don't exist in that time anymore. So now we're traveling around time. Backwards and forwards. We can have a lot of fun, but we need to be a little careful. Not many people will believe that we're traveling in time. And there are always bad people."

"How time-travel?" Penelope asked. She, remarkably, wasn't treating it as only a story.

"Through magic. It exists, and you can do it too. Here, wave my wand." Penelope took it and waved it. Green sparks shot out.

"Wow…" Penelope said. "Pwetty."

"Yes," Ginny said. "Pretty."

**A/N (#2!): There you go. Bye.**


	4. Yet Another Chapter: Oh, Wowie

**Disclaimer: Not mine. Harry Potter, that is.**

**A/N: Another one. Woot.**

Ginny and Penelope traveled around time, always on the move. In total time actually alive, Ginny turned twenty-two, and Penelope turned six, getting her magical knowledge to about mid-second Hogwarts year curriculum as taught by Ginny. Wands had been obtained from Ollivander's (for both Ginny and Penelope), made specially (at knife-point) to be undetectable by the Ministry.

On full moons, Ginny transformed with the help of the Wolfsbane Potion, stolen from apothecaries in the future. She kept up her skills at assassination and fighting, magic and everything she had learned, but just barely. To get up the level she had been before, Ginny would have to practice intensively, but the knowledge and skill was still there.

All in all, Ginny and Penelope were happy. They had a good life, money from various, prudent thieving endeavors and odd jobs, traveling not only through time but around the world. Penelope learned a lot about history.

There were no roots that the pair had to tie them down; they could leave at any time, from anywhere. Of course, they usually stayed about two weeks is one time period, catching the experiences of each thing. Ginny picked up a new spell using Legilimency that let her take knowledge of culture and the world from a person's head—just gently copying it—and place it into her own head. Both Ginny and Penelope became very good actresses.

The one down side to the footloose lifestyle was that neither Penelope nor Ginny had very many friends. So Ginny started to consider settling in one time for good.

She thought about all the possible times to stay in, and visited several of her prospects. Penelope didn't know what was going through Ginny's mind, was just happy with the life they had.

Finally Ginny decided on a random time, around 1978. That time seemed familiar, though…who was it that had lived then? Or who might have lived then? Ginny didn't remember…

But even with the memory lapse, a small house was bought and furnished. Now Ginny told Penelope of the new plan and Penelope was frankly delighted. She was eager to make friends and interact fully with other girls her own age, rather than just chatting a little bit.

The moving process was fairly quick and painless, so soon they were settled. The neighborhood was a wizarding one, since Ginny not only wanted Penelope to grow up in that environment, but because Ginny wanted to see the changes she had wrought. It was called Godric's Hollow, which again seemed very familiar to Ginny…she just couldn't put her finger on what made it so…

Oh, well, she thought. The house was nice, a lovely little cottage with a picket fence, and the neighbors were nice. There was one family who were on vacation, or something, so Ginny didn't meet them, but the other neighbors were just plain great. Best of all, they didn't comment on Ginny's white hair and choice of style. There might have been some doubt about how suitable Ginny was for guardianship of Penelope, but after a few days in Godric's Hollow those doubts were eradicated.

Penelope even made a few very good friends in the week or so after moving in. Ginny was ecstatic to see this, but was a little sad as Penelope grew farther from her.

A lot happened in those few days.

But at the end of that precious week, even more happened. The family on vacation returned.

Ginny was disturbed from her Saturday morning sleep-in by the sounds of laughing and shouting.

"What the hell?" she grumbled. "Damn, if whoever that is wakes up Penelope, she'll never get back to sleep." Ginny's white locks of hair were in utter disorder as she rose and replaced her earrings and piercings.

"Oy, Prongs!" yelled one of the voices. This sentence was the first that could be understood. "Your miniature is tearing up the pansies!"

"Harry!" shrieked a female voice.

Ginny stopped dead in her tracks.

Prongs?

Harry?

"Oh my God," she moaned and the hairbrush slipped from her suddenly numb fingers.

"Mummy?" Penelope said. She stood in the doorway of her room, thumb in her mouth and teddy bear grasped tightly. "What's wrong, Mummy?"

"Don't suck your thumb," Ginny replied absently and Penelope removed the offending appendage from her mouth.

"What's wrong, Mummy? Do we have to move again?"

"Do you want to move again?" Ginny asked her adoptive daughter.

"No," Penelope replied. "What's wrong, Mummy?"

"We aren't moving, then," Ginny said firmly. Her eyes were firmer now, no longer lost in memories and fear. "Come on. Our sleep's been interrupted, so I'll explain everything over breakfast."

"Hot oatmeal? With bananas? And croissants?" Penelope asked, effectively distracted from her worries. She looked up at Ginny with puppy-dog eyes, and Ginny relented.

"Fine, darling. Let me just get fixed up for the day."

"Yay!" Penelope squealed and went dancing out into the street once Ginny had gone into the bathroom. She walked up to the neighbors, who had just arrived, and said, "Mummy and I don't have to move again!"

"That's lovely, dear," the red-headed woman said. She looked a little confused as to who this little girl in pajamas was. "What's your name?"

"Penelope," Penelope replied. "I live there." She pointed to her house.

"That's the house that was up for sale, right James?" she asked the black-haired man who was struggling with an energetic one-year-old.

"Yeah, Lils. Though evidently not anymore," James replied. Then, addressing Penelope, "You live there?"

"With my mummy," Penelope said. She beamed. "Mummy is going to scream for me in a second. You'll see her. She's pretty."

Sure enough, a few seconds later, a shout issued out from the little house. "Penelope! Where the hell are you?"

"Out here, Mummy!" Penelope yelled back, and waved an arm. "I'm with the nice people!"

Ginny rushed out. Now she was fully made up and dressed, her white hair pulled back with several little Tolkien-elf-like braids.

"Never do that to me again, Penelope," Ginny scolded. "I told you never to leave the house without telling me where you're going, it's dangerous. Now you only get Cheerios for breakfast instead of hot cereal."

"Mummy!" Penelope whispered. "These people are nice, though, they're nice people."

"I'm not saying they're not, darling, but even here we can't rely on first impressions. Remember that, okay?"

"Mummy, the people are still here," Penelope informed Ginny, looking chastened. Ginny glanced up and was startled by the sight of seven pairs of eyes staring at her and Penelope.

"Oh my," Ginny said. "I'm really sorry, I just got worried."

"That's okay," the red-haired woman replied. "I would get worried too…" But all of them knew that none of them would get that worried, just about their child going out onto the sidewalk.

"You recently moved here?" another man butted in, trying to heal the situation.

"Oh, yeah," Ginny said. A sudden grin lit up her features, even with black-painted lips, black studded leather, white hair, and multiple piercings. It made her seem less like a worried mother and seem more like a happy teenager. That is, until you looked into her brown eyes and saw a world of grief in them, and now magnified.

"My name is Ginny Westley," she said. "Penelope Westley." She motioned to Penelope and the others nodded.

"These two" the man pointed to the red-head and her husband the black-haired man, "are Lily and James Potter, respectively. They live in this neighborhood with their little son, Harry."

Ginny's eyes misted over. It was so hard to keep control over her face—any moment now she would break down crying—

"Mummy!" Penelope shrieked suddenly. "I want breakfast!"

"I'll see you later then," Ginny mumbled to the group of people in front of her.

"Come on, Mummy," Penelope said, softer now. Penelope took Ginny's hand and carefully led her to the cottage.

"That was odd," James remarked. "Did you see how the kid was just leading her? Like it was the woman who was the child?"

"I saw it," Lily said. "In Healing classes, we're studying psychology…"

"Here we go again," whispered a very handsome man to his slightly pudgy, blond friend.

"Shut up, Sirius," Lily said without missing a beat. "…and it looked like that woman had a traumatic experience and something about us set her off on memories of that experience."

"What would set her off about us?" the golden haired man asked. "We're not intimidating…"

"Harry!" James yelled and dove off toward the errant one-year-old. That effectively destroyed the somber mood.

"We probably look like someone from the experience," Lily said quickly. "I have to help James with Harry, but we'll probably find out more about that woman."

"Yeah, probably," the pudgy one said doubtfully. He glanced at his wrist. "Oh, crap! I have work in like five minutes!"

"See you, Peter," they all chorused, and Peter Disapparated.

The now-smaller group walked into Lily and James' house, talking and laughing all the way. Ginny had been momentarily forgotten.

Meanwhile, Penelope led Ginny into the house and sat her down before climbing into her lap.

"Mummy."

"Yes, lovey?"

"What is with them?"

"I…"

"Mummy." Penelope's voice was insistent.

"Remember I told you about the bad times that I made go away by killing Tom Riddle?"

"Yes, Mummy. Are those people from the bad time?"

"Yes. But all except two were dead, and the last was in the service of Tom Riddle after betraying and basically killing the red-haired lady and her husband. The other one is really sad, but injured by the first one. And the little boy is the one who I told you about, the one who rescued me from Tom Riddle's diary."

Penelope put her hand to her mouth. Above it, her eyes were big and scared.

"But now you can make friends with them!" Penelope exclaimed. "What's bad about that, Mummy?"

"I don't know…" Ginny sighed. Her white head rested on top of Penelope's brown one. Sometimes the little girl was very, very perceptive.

"Let's stay, then," Penelope said. "There. You're going to make friends with them."

"All right," Ginny sighed. "I'll make friends with them." And then, more to herself than to Penelope, "See how their lives were meant to be lived…"

"Make me oatmeal!" Penelope interrupted happily.

"Fine, fine," Ginny said. Already she was looking more cheerful. "But afterwards you're going to start to learn how to fight, so I won't be scared when you walk out the door."

"Yay!" Penelope squealed and bounced up and down on Ginny's leather-clad knee, clapping her hands.

"Now get off me, kid," Ginny said. Penelope leapt off Ginny's lap and fetched the box of Insta-Oatmeal from a cabinet.

**A/N (#2!): ROTFLMAO. Bye.**


	5. Chapter the Next: On Action

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. There, that was easy.**

**A/N: Another chapter. Here you are. Lots of cool action. Yay!**

"Block! Strike! Block! Strike! Dodge! Block! One! Two! Five! Watch your footwork! Block! Strike! Block! No, girl! Bad form! Bad form! Don't open your hands! A slap won't get you anywhere!"

The sound of Ginny's yelling would have been echoing all over the neighborhood if there was not a Silencing Charm in place over the house of Ginny and Penelope.

Ginny was teaching Penelope, eight years old now, how to fist fight. It had been going on for about one and a half years, and Penelope had progressed a great deal. She had the natural talent, but not the desperation that had made Ginny learn so well and so quickly. This training was very pleasant, because it was also practice-time for Ginny once Penelope started sparring with dummies. Often, Penelope would stop her practice to watch Ginny fight against a conjured golem that fought back, or practice her assassination skills.

The magic learning had slowed a great deal though Penelope still had her wand (unregistered, so she could do underage magic) and used it when there was no one to see, because now she had started magical primary school where one was prepared for Hogwarts in writing essays and such.

Ginny had gotten a new, registered wand but kept her unregistered one for emergency purposes—still being very paranoid.

In those one and a half years, Ginny had also taken Penelope's advice and made friends with the Marauders and Lily, because that was who the group was. Now they were her very best friends and Penelope was like a big sister to Harry and his new little sister Rosie.

"I know it won't get me anywhere, Mummy, but they might not be expecting a girly slap!" Penelope yelled in response to Ginny's scolding about slapping in a fistfight.

"But it won't hurt as much," Ginny explained. "You have to put far more power into a slap to make it hurt as much as a good punch would, and that is strength that we women, unfortunately, have to work harder to get. Now. Up again. Strike! Block!"

"Is that the doorbell, Mum?" Penelope asked. "Do you think that Lily is coming over? I hope she brings Harry, cause I haven't seen him in a long time and I hope she's brought Rosie—"

"Babbling," Ginny warned with a grin. "Hold up. I'll clean us off a little and just lengthen our shorts and shirts." She did so, as the shorts and shirts were dangerously short, for ease of movement.

Ginny paced toward the front door and opened it cautiously. Her body was tensed for an attack, and indeed there was an attack—little Harry really threw himself at her legs. It was only Harry this time, no parents. And Harry was still about three.

"Auntie Ginny!" the little boy wailed. "Mummy told me to go to my room because I threw peas at Rosie!"

"You what?" Penelope asked. A smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth as she came up behind Ginny. "Threw peas at Rosie?"

Suddenly Harry's eyes widened.

"Oopsie," he said. "Uncle Siri said I wasn't supposed to say that."

"What were you supposed to say?" Ginny asked and pried Harry gently off her legs to pick him up.

Harry's face grew comical in its innocence. "I can't believe I just did aki—accidental magic," he said. "Damn I'm good."

"Um…why say 'damn I'm good?' " Penelope asked. Both she and Ginny were struggling very hard to keep straight faces.

"Uncle Siri said it," Harry replied, his little green eyes wide. "I said that to Mummy and she sent me to my room. She said because I threw peas at Rosie."

"Hey! Ginny!"

"What, Sirius?" Ginny asked. "Oh, you're back and getting your godson to swear. I see."

"What? Oh—that wasn't what I was here for. Just got a new motorcycle."

"All right," Ginny said and turned back to Harry. "But Penelope and I have to get back to our workout that this big boy interrupted."

"A workout?" Sirius asked. His face was adorably confused—adorably because he was a very handsome man, and confused because he only acted smart when he wanted to. This wasn't one of those times, although his large and quick brain was surely turning this new piece of information around and around in his head to examine it from all angles.

"Yes," Ginny replied. "A workout. Now, Harry, go back to your mummy with Uncle Siri and tell her exactly who told you to say that."

"A'right," Harry agreed, and when he was placed on the ground, ran back to his house with Sirius swearing behind him.

"Damn kid! Don't say that! No!" Sirius' voice came echoing back as he dashed off.

"You WHAT?" came Lily's shriek predictably about five seconds later.

Ginny sighed, still looking off toward the Potters' house.

"I never thought I'd be this happy, Penny," Ginny said. Her eyes were far away.

"Mum," Penelope said gently. She rested her hand lightly on Ginny's arm. "You deserve it."

"I do?" Ginny sighed. She tore her eyes away from the Potters' house, where Lily's shrieks could be heard above the loud laughter.

"Let's finish our workout, Mum," Penelope insisted. She hated it when Ginny got this way. It scared her; that there could be so much pain out there in the world to make it so that Ginny didn't think that she deserved simple happiness.

"I've killed so many people, Penny," Ginny sighed. She ignored Penelope's request to go back inside. "Who am I to judge who dies and who lives? I feel like I'm so evil…" she lifted her face to the soft wind. "I thank whatever deity there is every single day for all this…I thank whatever deity there is every day for you, Penny…"

"Mum, you made this all happen, from what I understand," Penelope said, brushing strands of Ginny's white hair from her face where the wind had blown them. "You're the one that people should be thanking for the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Potter, and Harry, and even Rosie…really, Mum, you're the one who made it all happen by taking care of Riddle."

"Thank you Penny," Ginny said. She finally looked at Penelope's face. The pain and guilt in her brown eyes were lightened a little, at least for a while, and the tiny lines of pain on her face eased up a little. "Now, you still need to work on not slapping your opponent. And you have to do your homework. School's tomorrow, remember."

"Yes, Mum, I remember," Penelope replied. She rolled her eyes but she was relieved that Ginny was back to normal. Ginny saw this relief and enclosed Penelope in a huge, warm hug.

It was quite amazing as to how Ginny could be such—such a Mrs. Weasley, when she had white hair, wore black leather, and was pierced all over. No one really questioned it. All the neighbors knew them too well to criticize really. There were no Aunt Petunias in Godric's Hollow, that's for sure. A good thing, too.

"Now, back inside," Ginny commanded and walked slowly back into the house. Penelope trailed behind her back down to the basement.

"Can we do swords?" Penelope asked wistfully once they were down in the basement, gazing at the wall hung with blades in naked longing.

"Once you master this, you can," Ginny said. She stretched: she'd gotten a bit stiff in the break.

"Can you at least demonstrate?" Penelope asked. She loved watching Ginny sword fight against one of the golems, though it always put her in her place—there was no way that she would ever get as good as Ginny, at least in Penelope's opinion.

"Fine," Ginny sighed and inspected the walls. After about a minute of pondering, Ginny chose a shortsword and a dagger.

"You really need to do competitions sometime," Penelope remarked to Ginny. They had seen several competitions of martial arts talent. It was Penelope's lifelong aspiration, now, to enter one of those and win against all other participants…or maybe just save the world, like Ginny…

"I might," Ginny replied. "Maybe next year. I have been thinking about this. That money in my vault will wear out soon. Unless we want to go to the future, but we don't. So…we need some money…" She spoke the short incantation to activate the dummy. "Vivicorpus."

The dummy sprang upright.

"Top level," Ginny said. Top level would just barely provide her with a challenge. It won about .5 of the time.

Now the dummy gained a certain fluidity that is only seen in the masters of the master fighters. It was an incredible feat to watch.

Both Ginny and the dummy bowed. They took ten paces back—or at least were supposed to. After six paces, the dummy leaped forward in an attack, its longsword outstretched. Ginny, while not fully expecting this, was alert and dodged easily. She attacked, and the dummy blocked.

Soon, all that could be seen of the fight was a blur of steel, and a combined blur of cloth and skin. It seemed like longer than a minute before the duel was over and Ginny's blades had pierced the 'fatal' points of the dummy.

"Yeah!" yelled Penelope. She clapped her hands. "Yes! Mum! You rock!"

"Have you been hanging out with Americans lately?" Ginny asked mock-sternly, her hands on her hips. The effect was ruined, however, by her dog-like panting and the hearty swigs she took out of the water bottle.

"Of course," Penelope answered. "I'm going to do more drills, okay?"

"Good," Ginny said. "I'm done for now."

"See you," Penelope said with a blithe wave. She headed off to another dummy and started doing drills against it. Ginny sighed and turned away to a couch in the corner, made for the express purpose of what she was about to do. Nap! Yay!

Well, probably not nap, but at least rest. Ginny laid herself down on the cushions and sighed again.

So many things were going right. But there were so many things to worry about, so many feelings swirling around inside her, so many thoughts trying to get to the forefront of her mind first…it was terribly confusing.

I am a still lake. I am rock. I am calm, Ginny thought over and over. Maybe that would help her sort through everything that was happening.

Ginny started to breath slowly and evenly. Meditation was probably her best bet right now; the most calming and the best way to sort through emotions. With the ease of much practice, Ginny entered the trance. What she saw was a swirling welter of—well, everything.

What was she so worried about? What? There was no doubt that Ginny was anxious, but how much of that anxiety stemmed from not knowing what the original anxiety was about?

Let's see, Ginny thought. This little consciousness was her, but an objective, calculating little her. As Harry would have put it, her Slytherin side. No, not split personalities, don't worry. It was just the very top of her consciousness.

There was the usual worry that nothing could be as happy as this world she lived in. There must be something plotting for its downfall—there must be something going on—Ginny ignored this one. It had been there for quite a while now.

There was another worry. A question, really. Did she really belong here anymore? Did she really belong in this world? She'd done her task. Now this world was nothing like the one she'd known. In fact, she'd had to forge legal papers! That wasn't too much of a hardship, neither morally nor physically, but still…if you have to forge papers, isn't there something wrong?

And…well, Ginny missed her friends. She'd been missing them for a while now. Ever since they'd all died.

And living right next door to her now was Harry. One of her best friends. How could she deal with seeing him grow up?

Almost breaking the trance, Ginny sighed.

Yet another thing weighed on her conscience. All those people she had killed. Yes, every day she prayed to—whatever—for their souls, and for forgiveness, but she had killed them. In cold blood.

Heh. That was her job.

Too many people had died. Too many at her own hand.

What did Ginny really want right now? Right now…right now, al she wanted was someone who would comfort her and tell her that everything was all right. And Penny, no matter how perceptive and sweet and beloved she was, would never take the place of a lover.

So finally, there was the last problem. She felt selfish, not thinking that Penelope was enough and wanting something more, felt like such a selfish bitch as you would never believe.

Ginny shifted a little on the couch. There was a spring digging into her back.

Yes, Ginny knew that wanting some sort of romantic involvement, or whatever, was nothing to feel guilty about. But…her mind knew it and her heart didn't believe it.

"Mum! I'm going to the school to get my report card, okay?" Penelope's voice broke through Ginny's meditation and musings—which interruption she took gratefully. Ginny was both happy that her dark thoughts were interrupted and that Penelope would soon be getting her grades—sure to be good—from the local Education branch of the Ministry.

"See you, Penny," Ginny replied. "And remember, if you get straight A's, you can make a reasonable request."

"Still haven't given up on bribery, eh, Mum?" Penelope asked slyly.

"Of course not," Ginny said. "Now shoo."

"All right, all right. But I do know exactly what I'm going to ask."

"Fine," Ginny said. "Go, go." Penelope went.

Ginny sighed and stood up. A little more training wouldn't go amiss. Unknown to Penelop e, there was another little part of the house down here. A little password, a little retinal scan, and a little bit of blood was all that was needed to open up the secret stairway that led to a whole other complex.

Directly after Ginny touched down on the carpeted floor, the staircase and door above her disappeared. One could never be too careful.

This small place—actually more than double the size of the building above—was Ginny's special place. Windows were enchanted to be able to see anywhere Ginny wanted with an almost undetectable scrying spell—one that was impossible to see unless (with every spell there was always an unless) one crossed their eyes, crossed their fingers, stuck their tongue out, and did the macarena. Needless to say, no one that Ginny spied on did any of the above actions, much less at the same time. There was an enchanted door that led to any place that Ginny knew the appearance of. It was a very easy way to travel.

That was only the first room, however. When Ginny walked into the next room, it was totally different. Weapons lined the bare, concrete walls, and not just standard weapons like the ones in the above building.

Throwing stars, tipped in poison, were on one section of the walls. There were deadly stilettos—again, poisoned—on another section, wires designed to cut a target's head right off on another, weapons of the true assassin's art all over. A whole other wall was devoted utterly to poisons, poisons and potions, all in crystal bottles. Blowguns and their darts lined a small section of the wall, and little handheld crossbows with both wooden bolts (vampires) and silver bolts (werewolves) hung on another wall. With them were guns, for times when all hope of stealth was eradicated and one merely needed to kill and get it over with.

Silver bullets were there—for werewolves again, and some evil Fey who had joined Voldemort in Ginny's time—and special guns that shot wooden stakes (vampires), guns like Supersoaker waterguns that shot holy water and at great force. There were grenades, stun and others designed to create diversions; grenades that exploded with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder—a handy thing the Weasley twins' had in stock at their store; grenades made purely for shrapnel; grenades that set fires that stayed aflame until Stunned—absolutely devastating; and the original muggle version.

In other words, here lay the tools of Ginny's true trade.

Quickly Ginny strapped on her gear, of which a black catsuit with many, many bottemless pockets; an assortment of over twenty blades strapped over her person; five guns of various kinds; the guns' ammo on her belt; a small crossbow and its bolts; the grenades needed for a clean getaway after being spotted; and a wide strap across her front—like a sash—that had tiny pockets for vials upon vials of potions and poisons, all designed to keep from knocking against each other constituted. Over all went another suit with a bit of an illusion on it. It looked exactly as if it were the original catsuit right over her skin. But it was able to become immaterial at her will so she could reach anything beneath it.

Dead useful, and the magic could not be detected unless one crossed their eyes and fingers, stuck out their tongues, and did the Cotton-Eyed Joe in slow motion—while humming 'Mission Impossible.'

Before leaving, Ginny paced silently through the other rooms in her annex. There was a set of rooms where she made all her poisons and potions, a set where she developed charms, some rooms where she invented curses and countercurses, a couple of rooms where she developed transfigurations, rooms where she developed nearly every other subject of magic—and if she wasn't developing it, she was studying it—and a couple of other rooms where she never went in unless dressed in a magical hazmat suit.

Finished, Ginny paced back to the first room and grabbed the hood that she used to disguise her white hair and her voice. Then she visualized the dark alley three down from her true destination and stepped through.

Immediately Ginny blended into the shadows around her and moved quickly to the alley a block away. Waiting there should be her client—and yes, there he was. Dressed in a billowing black robe, there was no mistaking his identity. Too many times had Ginny seen him move to not recognize various mannerisms—and she had been trained to recognize and remember these subtle things.

One smooth tug brought him through the wall to the small wizarding pub hidden behind it. This was quite disreputable, but the Walking Galleon was renowned for forgetting its clients as soon as they disappeared from view. Any business done here would immediately be forgotten except by the ones who took part in it, due to the inherent and powerful Memory Charms set on the walls.

"A private room," Ginny demanded the bartender. She kept a firm hold on her clients arm and didn't twitch when her voice came out as a silky man's.

"O'course, o'course," the bartender replied. He escorted them to a tiny little room whose walls shimmered with incredibly powerful Silencing Charms, Non-Business Repellant charms, and various others. And those were only the surface; only for distracting attention away from the charms and spells beneath. Those ones were far nastier and far more effective.

"'Ere you are," the bartender said graciously and handed them into the cramped space. His thick cockney accent made his next words nearly a foreign language, but Ginny thought that he'd said "And good business to ye."

"I have a proposition," the client began.

"Of course you do," Ginny said. She leaned back, lazy, in her chair but she was absolutely ready to dodge a spell or weapon and kill her client if need be, and her senses were totally alert. "It better be a well-paying one, to bring me out here in broad daylight."

"You know very well that this time is perfect for meeting," the client said, a sneer evident in his voice. "Now, why don't you tell me who you really are? And take the voice altering charm off."

Ginny was faintly surprised. He must have detected a flaw in the voice charm; perhaps a slight monotone? Or maybe a bit of lag-time from true voice to false? She would have to fix that.

"I think not, Mr. Snape," Ginny said coolly. Her body did not tense in the least bit but again, she was prepared for anything. "Why don't you tell me why you are here? You have no business proposition."

Snape lowered his hood. "Oh, but I do," he replied silkily.

"Who is your master?"

"I have no master, thief," Snape said.

Before he could blink, there was a wire around his neck—ready to cut off his head if the need arose—and Ginny was behind him, whispering in his ear.

"I am no mere thief," Ginny whispered. "Now, what are you here for?"

"I work for Albus Dumbledore, but he is not my master—" That was what was so nice about Slytherins: they realized that death threats were to be taken seriously and reacted accordingly, instead of being stupid and rash like some Gryffindors.

"Who is your master?" Ginny asked again.

"I have no master."

"Of course," Ginny said sarcastically. "So, what did Albus Dumbledore send you here for?" All throughout, her voice retained a lightly cold and mocking edge to it.

"I was told to find your identity, since he believes that you have meddled with time to kill a certain child."

"Then you know my identity."

"Yes, Ginevra Molly Weasley. And I have reason to believe that you are living in the neighborhood of Godric's Hollow under the name of Westley."

"I will see Dumbledore," Ginny hissed. "But you will tell no one. If this gets out, no matter whether you say you did not leak it or did, I will hunt you down." A little bit of pressure increased on the wire. Snape's neck began to bleed a little.

"Yes…"

"Remember: _I will hunt you down_." She slipped the wire off Snape's neck and paced outside the room. She hid in the shadows of the pub—it was dark inside it, as if the sun was not shining fiercely outside. A few coins clattered on the bar in front of the bartender, and Ginny escaped to the alley.

Hiding there were two people, cloaked heavily and fidgeting. They saw her emerge from the pub—having a wall ripple as you emerge really increases one's visibility, not nice for an assassin—and stood up straight. They pulled their wands and trained them on her.

Ginny's hand darted to her suit. She willed it to become immaterial, and her hand passed through it to get a couple of darts and a blowgun. Her other hand uncorked a vial with the ease of long practice, and dipped the tips of the darts inside it. This all took about a millisecond of flickering hands. Ginny willed her suit to become physical again, and loaded the blowgun. She brought it to her lips and shot off the tiny darts.

Each buried itself in the large vein on the neck, right where Ginny meant to place them. Hiding and stowing the blowgun back in its proper place, she waited the necessary five seconds before the poison was washed off the darts by the rushing blood, then pulled them carefully out. Couldn't be losing her equipment now, could she? A drop from another bottle healed the incision on the necks without a scar and for spreading it a little on other places on the body, so that no one would know where the darts had gone in. And finally, the darts were wiped of poison and put away.

Cleaning up done, Ginny Disapparated in the alley she had come in from. There were major chores that needed to be done.

**A/N (#2!): Bye.**


	6. THE Chapter of Chapters: Lucius Malfoy

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter not mine.**

**A/N: Lucius Malfoy is _goin' down_.**

Ginny appeared right in the street of Godric's Hollow that she lived on, in front of the Potters' house. That showed how disoriented she was, as normally she would Apparate right into the bathroom that only she was allowed to use (her excuse was that Penelope never knocked and used her special shampoo) and thus secretly.

"Fuck," she said, and Disapparated again to the bathroom. Hopefully no one had seen her. But hell, with the way her life was going right now, someone probably had. The most to hope for was that they didn't recognize her.

"Mum?" Penelope called. "Mum, where are you?"

"I'm in my bathroom, Penny," Ginny called back. She slipped on some clothes, right over her suit, and looked in the mirror. The mask was off—she looked totally innocent—

"I've been calling you for the past, like, six hours!" Penelope yelled. She was right outside the door. "If you didn't put these stupid wards up, just so I couldn't steal your shampoo or makeup—"

"It's a legitimate concern!" Ginny exclaimed. Damn. Her voice cracked. She schooled her voice and face to be far steadier, and opened the door to Penelope.

"Finally," Penelope said. "There're a couple of cloaked guys waiting to see you. They seem to want to bring you to Professor Dumbledore. They also wanted to search the house—"

"What?" Ginny said. "Oh, well. Was everything in its rightful place? It would be a shame if it was messy around here." Penelope rolled her eyes at the use of the code, which meant 'was there anything incriminating around?'

"You know that we always neaten up, Mum," Penelope said (that meant, 'of course not'). "Come on. They're waiting in the living room." Ginny followed Penelope down the stairs.

"Here they are. They said that they're Hogwarts teachers. Will they be teaching me?"

"Hopefully," Ginny said. "But time will tell." (Meaning, 'possibly, but we might have to travel in time again.')

"Okay," Penelope replied cheerfully. She presented Ginny to the rest of the room. "Here's my mum."

All the people in there were ones Ginny recognized. Professor McGonagall was on the couch with one Professor Flitwick (who supposedly was a Dueling Master in his younger years), Mr. Weasley, and another person who Ginny had hoped never to see again.

Lucius Malfoy.

White-blond hair—fire—can't be put out—family burning—someone laughing—"Stupid muggle-lovers"—

The snippets of memory resolved themselves into one big picture; one of pain, and terror.

_Lucius Malfoy stood in front of a burning house, one that was slightly lopsided._

"_What—" Ginny screamed. She fell to her knees, as far as the shackles she was in would allow. "Mum—Dad—Ron—Hermione! No! They're burning—?" _

"_Yes, stupid muggle-lovers," Lucius Malfoy snarled. "Burning, and good riddance." He laughed at her pain, and at the screams that tore through the air from the Burrow. "And the fire can't be put out until it has consumed everything in one specific space. Your string of very disgusting words here relatives are gone. Oh, too bad—now they—" _

_That was the last straw for Ginny. She screamed in fury. _

"_Is little Weasel mad? Poor, poor baby—can't do anything to save them, can you—" _

_Ginny's hands were roped, certainly, but she still had access to certain things. Her hidden dagger, for example, always secreted in her clothes. She reached it and cut through the ties easily. _

_Now, all that was required was one simple move—one that Ginny had mastered already, despite not being fully trained. _

_She threw the tiny dagger at Malfoy, and it hit, a bullseye. His pupil. The blade dug into his brain and killed him, the poison on it taking care of the rest of his life. Ginny stood, and fetched the dagger. She cut the bonds on her feet and escaped. She would deal with grieving later—now was the time for survival._

"Mum!" Penelope said loudly, when Ginny had just gotten lost in the memory. "MUM! Snap out of it!"

"Why don't you just slap her?" Professor McGonagall asked, curious. "That usually takes them out of hysterics."

"Trust me," Penelope said. "You don't want to try it." She turned back to Ginny, who was yet again being flooded with the Memories, and not just the one about Malfoy burning the Burrow. There were plenty bad Memories with Lucius Malfoy playing a leading role. Oddly enough, tangible capital letters were often used in conversations due to the vast amount of Memories (always pronounced with a capital 'M') that Ginny was subject to.

"Why not?" Malfoy sneered. "Get more hysterical? And why is she curled up on the floor and whimpering anyway?"

But Penelope wasn't paying attention to him. She was holding Ginny's hand, and listening to the murmurs that escaped her. That way, it was possible for her to break Ginny out of it.

"Second time today," Penelope whispered. She laid a hand on Ginny's forehead. "Damn. That's bad…"

Ever alert, Professor McGonagall picked up on that whisper. "Second time today?" she asked sharply. Penelope glanced up.

"None of your business," Penelope said calmly, and turned her attention back to Ginny. "Could you please all exit the room? Mum prefers not to have spectators."

"What's the trouble?" Malfoy asked. He drew closer to Ginny and Penelope. "Besides, we're here to take her in."

"What? Why?" Penelope asked. She was very startled. Very, very, startled.

Unfortunately, this gave Malfoy the opportunity he needed.

"We'll tell you when she's up," Malfoy said, and slapped Ginny, hard, across the face to wake her up. Ginny's eyes flew open, she rolled to a crouch, and her hands flickered. In no time at all, a wire was around Malfoy's neck and tightening, while a knife was pointed at anyone else in the room who might think to resist. Penelope was certain that the knife was poisoned.

"Oh, Mum," she whispered. "What have you been doing? True assassination? Oh, Mum…"

"Who the hell are you and why are you in my house?" Ginny rasped. Her voice sounded like it had been wept dry. "Get out, now, you—" Her eyes suddenly focused and recognized the people in the room.

Disregarding the Hogwarts professors, Ginny snapped her attention to Malfoy.

"I told you that you didn't want to slap her," Penelope muttered. Malfoy's eyes were fear-filled as he glanced at her.

"Malfoy?" Ginny hissed. "Lucius Malfoy?"

"That would be me," Malfoy said, trying to pretend that he had not just wet his tailored slacks and robes in fear.

"How nice to see you."

"Er…"

"And how is dear, dear Narcissa?" Ginny knew the status of all her old enemies; what they'd been doing, their life stories, their positions in the Ministry—it was good to be prepared.

"Er…"

"Do you like the fact that many, many galleons have mysteriously made their way into your Gringotts vault?" Ginny asked. Her voice was colder than Antarctica, and Penelope could see that her unique battle-rage was on her. This battle rage was deadly, and luckily (in Penelope's mind) she had only seen it once before. "Do you enjoy making innocent people's lives miserable? Did you like it when you tortured that muggle-born girl?"

"I—"

"Oh, yes, no one was supposed to know that it was you. I see. Oh, my. How terrible."

"Um…"

"Listen, Malfoy," Ginny said. "And listen well." She grabbed his white-blond head. "I am giving you two choices—and this is far more than I normally give."

"Wh—wha—Malfoys don't bargain—"

"Oh, that's too bad," Ginny hissed. Her head tilted slightly to the side in an ultimately animalistic way, and the wire tightened a little. "Because your choices were these: either sign a contract that I write and get your dick cut off, or sign a contract that I write and die."

"Mum—" Penelope whispered, a futile thing.

"Sh, Penelope." Ginny's voice warmed up quite a bit. "I'm dealing with dangerous cat-sick, here."

"Oh," Penelope said. She smirked. "In that case—you might want to wear latex gloves—but be careful, some flies might buzz around. But time will tell, right?" Of course, that meant something as well. Penelope had really been reminding Ginny that people would inquire and provide a bit of a hassle, but they could still always time-travel again.

"Right," Ginny agreed, and her voice got deathly cold again. "Your choice, Malfoy."

"Er…the…first option…" Malfoy said immediately. His face was bright red and caught in a grimace of fear.

"Ah, better live than die? At least you have an heir?" Malfoy didn't answer. "Penelope?" Ginny's voice warmed again. "Could you get those others away? I will come to Hogwarts in…a half an hour, I think—no, make that an hour. I'll be right in Dumbledore's office, all right?"

"Okay, Mum," Penelope said. She turned to the other adults. "Okay! You heard my mum! Off, she'll be there—"

"But—Mr. Malfoy—" Professor McGonagall, ever the stickler for rules, gasped weakly. Obviously she didn't really want to save Malfoy, but…

"He'll be taken care of, ma'am, don't worry," Penelope said, purposely misunderstanding. "Mum's got him right in hand."

"Um…"

"Go," Ginny snarled. They went. "Now, Penny, could you fetch me the official parchment and paper? Top drawer in my desk—oh, and sealing wax, please."

"Yes, Mum," Penelope said and rushed off.

"Now, Malfoy. Sign this piece of paper." She held out a normal piece of parchment. "This is the signature that you agree with all of my requests. See, I'm taking this wire off your neck. And if you try to run, I'll kill you, no sweat to me. So, just in case."

Malfoy signed, even in his fear with sure strokes of the quill.

"Mum! I've got it!" Penelope yelled, bounding into the room.

"Good. Now I'll dictate to you. Your best, official handwriting, all right? And tell me if you see a loophole."

"Okay."

"I, Lucius Malfoy," Ginny began. "Hear the making of this document being sound of mind and sound of body. I hereby make Ginevra Molly Weasley the guardian in all but surname and blood of my son and current heir, Draco Adonis Malfoy. I will not communicate in any way to anything the circumstances in which this document was signed, to keep the privacy of Ginevra Molly Weasley and her daughter. I also swear to never try, directly or indirectly, to or have someone or something including myself try to harm in any way Ginevra Molly Weasley, Penelope Francis Weasley, or Draco Adonis Malfoy. I will stop all criminal activities I have been participating in and will never break the law again in my lifetime. Furthermore, if I do not keep to the spirit of this document rather than merely the letter, I will be taken to Azkaban or killed."

"That looks good, Mum," Penelope said. Malfoy hadn't moved. "He has to sign, right? And we need some more witnesses?"

"No, actually, we don't," Ginny said. "That's the problem with wizarding law. You can't lie on these documents, but that's easy to get around, and because of that spell, no witnesses are needed. Also, it doesn't matter if it's signed under duress. You there," she addressed Malfoy, "change that law. I'll contact you about how it will be changed. Now, sign."

Malfoy signed, and Ginny used her wand to check whether it was all good. It was not; Malfoy had signed with his left hand, although he was right-handed.

"Sign, properly," Ginny snarled. "Or not only will you lose your balls, but you'll also lose your money and your job."

"Y—yes—" Malfoy signed, and this time it was authentic.

"Wax, please," Ginny said, and Penelope passed her the small candle that was made of authentic, magical, sealing wax. The kind that Malfoy used. She dripped a glob of melted wax right beside Malfoy's signature and, realizing her intent and being helpful for once (though on pain of more humiliation than the prior promise), Malfoy pressed his ring-seal into it.

This time, Penelope waved her wand above it. "It's good, Mum," she said. Ginny waved her own wand over it, just to check, and agreed. "Soon I won't have to check, after you do this," she said. Then she took hold of Malfoy's hair.

"Can I watch, Mum? If he sent you off into a Memory like that one he can't be good."

"No, I'll show you when boys start getting interested in you, just in case," Ginny replied, and strode into the basement with Malfoy stumbling after her.

Let us not go into the details of the violence that followed. Let us merely say that Lucius Malfoy walked out of that basement in extreme pain and with a higher voice.

Penelope dumped him in the Potters' front garden, unconscious, with a note of apology that they left such filth on the lawn, and that they hoped that the grass would be all right. The note was unsigned.

Ginny, while Penelope was taking out the trash, paid a visit to the Ministry. She demanded that she get access to a higher-up who would take care of her right away, since she was the representative of Lucius Malfoy.

That got her in quickly.

She was there to get little Draco Malfoy away from his father, and by Merlin she would make him so that Lucius didn't recognize him!

**A/N (#2!): evil laughter Bye. evil laughter**


	7. A Chapter Chapter: Nasty Explanation

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine.**

**A/N: Wow. LONG chapter. Happy reading.**

What followed was a mess of business and bureaucracy, but at the end of forty-five minutes, Ginny Apparated to the designated Apparition Point at Malfoy Manor to pick up young Draco Malfoy for the adoption ceremony. All it took was the flashing of both the Minister's and Lucius Malfoy's signatures to gain access to the nursery.

Easy.

Unfortunately, young Draco himself was not as easy. Inside, he was throwing a major temper tantrum over who knew what. The house-elves did not know what to do—if they hit him, they would get punished—if they really did anything they would get punished.

Ginny strode in. "Excuse me, sir house-elf," she said. The house-elves looked at her in shock at her form of address. "I'm here to adopt Draco. Would you deliver this to Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Mistress Narcissa Malfoy?" a house-elf squeaked.

"Yes. I'm sorry, but it needs to be done. But—well, would you like to be free?"

"Free?" they gasped. "Free?" It was unheard of; freedom. Some elves shook their heads, while others nodded.

"You'll have to wait a day or two," Ginny said. "But you'll be free. I can get Mr. Malfoy to do things for me. Now, I need to take Draco."

"NO!" Draco yelled. His face was red, but he wasn't crying. He still was an insanely cute baby—if not for the disgusting expression on his face. Ginny ignored him.

"Thank you," Ginny said to the house-elves, and bowed. She scooped Draco up under her arm, and carried him, kicking and screaming, to the Apparition Point. She went directly to the weapons-room of her house that Penelope knew of, and descended to the secret basement.

"NO!" Draco yelled again. He screamed and flinched when Ginny raised her hand to feel his forehead, and Ginny frowned.

"Worse than I thought," she whispered. "Now, Draco—"

"NO!"

"I need you to drink this," she requested and wiggled a bottle of sleeping potion in front of his face.

"NO!"

"If you agree, then I'll give you a treat," she said. Draco hesitated. "But if you don't, you're taking it anyway, all right? I don't want to be mean, Draco."

"Yes," he finally agreed in a small voice.

"Good. Then open your mouth, all right?" Draco obediently opened his little mouth wide and Ginny poured the sleeping potion into it. "It tastes like yummy oranges, right, dear? Yes, it's good, right? I love you, sweetie."

At this, Draco stiffened slightly in surprise. Had he never heard that before? Never?

Ginny scowled a bit. Well, she supposed she did love him; the little boy tugged on her heartstrings like almost none before. No matter _how_ much of a bastard he was in her world.

Draco wrapped his arms around her neck and buried his face in her shoulder, dead asleep, so Ginny stood.

"Here…and here…" Ginny mumbled. She selected where her door would put her, and stepped through it. She emerged right in the shadows behind the gargoyle at Dumbledore's office. She sneaked up the stairs, though her progress was rather hampered by the dead weight of child she held in her arms.

Now, there was a little secret passage…right before the door…ah, there it was. Ginny pressed the small catch with her wand, and it swung smoothly open. She ducked inside.

Gently, Ginny lay Draco down on the ground. She scowled even more when he started to whimper, and smoothed his hair back. Slowly, the little sounds died away.

_I should have thought about that,_ Ginny berated herself, and uncorked two other little vials, one of Dispel Potion and another of Dreamless Sleep Potion. First she made Draco swallow the Dispel, which made him wake up gasping.

"It's all right," she whispered. "I'm here. I'm making the nightmares go away." She used a simple and painless Injection Charm (often used by potion addicts, unfortunately) to place the Dreamless Sleep in his system. When she whispered to him, Ginny noticed Draco smile slightly.

"Oh, baby," Ginny whispered. She held gathered him into a big, Mrs. Weasley-type hug even though he was Dreamlessly Sleeping. Her cheek rested on his little blond head. "I'll never, ever hit you, all right? Now I have to go, though. I'll be right back." Carefully, she placed him on the ground again. "I'll be right back."

Already there were all the people (except Malfoy, of course) that had been at her house. They were basically wringing their hands, and muttering. Only Dumbledore sat serenely at his desk, and his eyes as well belied a nervous twinkle.

"Is she coming?"

"She said she'd come."

"An hour, wasn't it?"

"Who is she, anyway?"

Ginny stepped out from behind the bookshelf. "I," she said, in answer to her father's question, "am Ginevra Molly Weasley, Assassin Master of the Highest Order, and Ruler of the Guild; and Warrior Master of the highest degree. Not Westley; that was a fake name."

"So then—" Professor McGonagall gasped.

"It is you—" Professor Flitwick interrupted, just as Mr. Weasley gasped, "Weasley?"

"So it is as I suspected," Dumbledore stated. His face was disappointed, an expression that Ginny remembered being more shame-inducing on students than an angry one. Hah. Not anymore.

"Indeed," Ginny said. "Now that I've got my entrance over with, I would like to a certain person who is currently under the Dreamless Sleep potion. Excuse me for a moment."

She walked over to the space right next to Fawkes' perch and seemingly reached through the wall.

"I never—" Dumbledore began, but just sat back to watch.

Ginny felt around with her hands until she felt Draco's frail body, and then she pulled him through into a tight hug. His head drooped on her shoulder.

"There, there, sweetling," she murmured to his sleeping form, and patted his back. Sure, the little boy was sleeping like the dead, but that wasn't an excuse not to give him any cuddle time.

Reluctantly, Ginny turned back to Dumbledore. "Ask," she said simply.

"Your origins are mysterious," Dumbledore began, raising a hand to stop anyone from asking anything else. "How did you come to be what you are now? How did you come to be here?"

"First," Ginny responded, "I would like some other people here to hear about this; once I'm done I won't repeat, not to anyone."

"Why?"

"My past…" Ginny said and searched for the right words. "My past…causes me…some pain. I would prefer to have the Potters, Sirius, Remus, the Longbottoms, Penelope, and…Annette on hand to hear."

"I would like the Minister here," Dumbledore said and looked around. "Arthur, would you like your family? Since her name is Weasley and as far as I know your family is the only Weasley family in the world?"

"No!" Ginny interrupted, "no! I—I'll explain later, but—they're too—too innocent. Just—don't. Oh, maybe Mu-Mrs. Weasley or any older member—but—just—no."

Mr. Weasley looked surprised at her outburst, and then uncharacteristically grim. "All right," he said. "If it's that bad—well—Gideon and Fabian Prewett, my wife's brothers. Aurors, both."

"That sounds fine," Ginny said, taking control over the discussion. "I can contact Penny easily, but…I think it's best if you get in touch with the others, Professor Dumbledore." Dumbledore nodded and picked up a handful of Floo Powder, threw it into the fireplace, and stuck his head in the flames.

"Penelope," Ginny said clearly into her palm, shifting Draco slightly on her lap. "_Penelope_, this is _not_ an _emergency_." Ginny's emphasized words activated the magical communication system that was embedded in both Penelope's and Ginny's palms.

Paranoia has helped more than harmed someone in Ginny's position. Letting her guard down now…would be bad. Very bad.

"Hey! I'm here," Sirius announced as he climbed out of the fireplace. "What's the matter? You've got serious looks on your faces—does this have anything to do with the call Lily sent me that her neighbor Ginny arrived in front of her house looking like a ninja?"

"Ninjas don't look anything like me," Ginny said, taking very slight offense. "They have a different stance, they wear real armor, they use katanas, they have different poisons, and…." She trailed off and smirked inwardly. That had gotten her exactly the kind of reaction she'd wanted: shock.

"Who are we waiting for?" Sirius asked, and before he finished, Lily, James, Remus, Harry, and Annette (a new friend of Ginny's and an old of Lily's) came tumbling out of the green flames as well.

"After this, Gideon and Fabian Prewett, and Penelope."

"How is Penny getting here?" Sirius frowned. "She doesn't know how to Apparate, right?"

"No, portkey," Ginny informed the room at large. "Once she's here, she could probably take Draco and Harry; keep them occupied, especially since Draco is asleep—"

"Is that—that Draco _Malfoy_?" James hissed, but Lily and Remus restrained him from seizing the little boy in his hands and strangling him.

"He was…mistreated," Ginny responded. "It will take a lot of work and a lot of support before he's normal. But…all will be explained, all right? I just…well, we need to wait."

Penelope _whoosh_ed in from the portkey and looked around at all the people gathered there. "What's going on?" she asked Ginny, but Professor Dumbledore answered her.

"Your…mother is answering some questions for us," he said. No one missed his hesitation over the word 'mother', not even those conversing with each other in the room. As it was, Penelope's eyes narrowed.

"All right," Penelope said. "What's going on here, Mum? Is this about—" she made a gesture that obviously symbolized the Time-Turner.

"Partly," Ginny replied. "Partly Draco here as well…partly the secrets that I've been keeping from you."

"What secrets?" Penelope asked sharply. Her nostrils flared. Ginny recognized this technique; getting angry in order to cover up hurt.

"Ones that I was planning to reveal when you got a little older," Ginny said. "When you'd learned—ah, that must be the Prewetts.

"It is indeed," a handsome red-haired twin said. This, Ginny knew from multiple pictures, was Fabian Prewett.

"How did you know?" Gideon asked.

"Now that we're all here," Ginny said, disregarding his question and taking control over the room, "we should make the blood contract."

"Blood contract?" Lily exclaimed, while all the others in the room except for Dumbledore and Penelope just reared back in surprise.

Only…Sirius had a slightly…odd look in his eyes. Ginny cast him another glance, but decided to come back to it; what was happening now was far more important.

"Here," Ginny said, and pulled a tightly furled scroll out of her pocket—really reaching through a hole in her pocket to reach the corresponding one on her…work…suit. "I have the contract made in case of this eventuality; I just have to add the specifics. Professor, if you would look it over?" She handed it to Dumbledore, who unrolled it and read it through carefully.

"I shall do the specifics, if you please," Dumbledore said. He took out his wand. "And I'll read it through. Here we are:

"I do so swear upon my blood and upon my magic that I will not communicate, share in a Pensieve, place in a Pensieve, or in any way betray the confidence of Ginevra Molly Weasley, Assassin Master of the Highest Order, and Ruler of the Guild; and Warrior Master of the highest degree (hereafter referred to as Ginevra). What is imparted here—neither this blood contract nor the secrets that Ginevra shall tell—shall ever be mentioned outside Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's office without permission; and if ever mentioned inside the Headmaster's office Ginevra must be present, conscious, lucid, and consenting to the discussion without force. None of the information may be used against Ginevra or her adopted daughter by name of Penelope Weasley. Signed—"

"A blood quill seems best here," Ginny interrupted. "Since that's it for the contract. If not everyone agrees, I tell nothing."

"We agree," Dumbledore hastened to assure Ginny, which caused some scowls. "What about Harry, though?"

"He needs to sign as well," Ginny said. Lily and James—well, everybody who knew Harry—glared at her, and she shrugged. "I don't want to do this, but I really am not happy with doing this…Rose and Draco too. I mean it when I say that I am _not_ repeating this—you could repeat to your children if I'm there—I just—"

"Why don't we sign with magic signs?" James suggested. "We all have those, and Harry knows how to write his—Rose's we can write with—with her blood—"

"Excellent idea," Dumbledore said.

"You're really eager to hear this, aren't you?" Ginny asked quizzically. She tilted her head a little. Most people nodded. "All right, sign."

The adults and Penelope signed their magic signs, and grasping their hands over the little children's, the adults wrote the children's magic signs with the children's blood. Ginny pulled a little bottle of Murtlap Essence out of her potions stash in her 'work' suit to rinse the children's hands with, and then put it back in the vial.

"Now, tell," Fabian commanded impishly. Ginny just sighed.

"Don't interrupt me, all right?" she requested, and she began. "I lived in the future; born in the future, bred in the future. I—no, I'll tell the story of that world.

"There was a boy named Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was mistreated at an orphanage and longed for power. He was cruel, a bully, and when he went to Hogwarts he was sorted into Slytherin, where he was cruel still. He grew up to be one of the most evil wizards, _ever_. He killed many, many, many people.

"Then there was a prophecy made, by Sibyll Trelawney. It went along the lines that someone born at the end of July to parents who had defied Voldemort three times would be able to defeat Voldemort; kill or be killed, basically. The two possibilities were Neville Longbottom, and Harry Potter." Lily gasped and tightened her hold on Harry. Ginny shot her a grimace before continuing. "Voldemort would mark the child as his equal, and the child would have a power that he knew not. The Longbottoms and the Potters—you, Lily and James—went into hiding, protected by the Fidelius Charm.

"Sirius was your Secret-Keeper, Lily and James. No one would ever know where your house was unless he told them. But you were afraid; wouldn't Voldemort come after Sirius and torture him for the location? Besides, you knew that there was a spy somewhere. So you decided to switch to Peter without telling anyone. It was the perfect bluff—who would suspect poor, innocent, clumsy Peter of holding such an important secret? And of course he _couldn't_ be the spy, o no. Remus was far more likely, being a 'Dark' creature. So you switched to Peter.

"I'm sure you know how this will turn out. Peter was the spy, and immediately took the information to Voldemort, who had heard part of the prophecy and knew enough to come after little Harry. On Halloween night, he went into Godric's Hollow and killed James. He killed Lily, too, who died for Harry to live, if that makes sense. A sacrifice, you could call it. When Voldemort cast _avada kedavra_ on Harry, the curse rebounded on him, leaving Harry with a lightening bolt cut on his forehead and Voldemort little more than a spirit.

"Hagrid took Harry to a place where he was safe from outside influences and would grow up without getting arrogant. That place was the Dursleys'; Lily's muggle sister Petunia, her husband, and their child. Harry grew up in a cupboard under the stairs, punished for accidental magic.

"Now, Sirius. He went after Wormtail; cornered him on a muggle street. Wormtail blew up the street, cut off his finger, transformed—I'm sorry if you didn't want this revealed, Marauders—into his illegal Animagus form—a rat—and escaped. But first, he shouted to the street that Sirius had betrayed Lily and James; implying that he was confronting Sirius. Sirius was arrested for the betrayal of Lily and James, and killing Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles in the explosion. He was taken away laughing.

"He was taken to Azkaban, survived by transforming into his dog Animagus form so that the Dementors didn't affect him as much.

"Meanwhile, Harry found out that he was a wizard. In his first year at Hogwarts, he fought Voldemort off, using the blood protections to harm Voldemort's host body, since he was a spirit just possessing someone else and drinking unicorn blood to stay alive.

"Next year, I got ahold of an evil diary that contained Voldemort's memory of when he was sixteen years old and opened the Chamber of Secrets. I was possessed and brought down to the Chamber, where Harry saved me. I was happy. I had a major crush on him.

"Harry's third year, Sirius escaped and made his way to Hogwarts. At the end of the year, he confronted Wormtail and Sirius in the Shrieking Shack. He spared Wormtail's life, creating a Life Debt.

"Fourth year he was in the Tri-Wizard Tournament, the fourth contestant, brought in through foul play of a Death Eater. He basically won. But the Cup was a portkey, bringing him to a graveyard. Where his blood resurrected Voldemort.

"Fifth year, he found out about the prophecy. He was lured to the Department of Mysteries by way of his lightening-bolt-shaped scar, which was a connection to Voldemort. Sirius died there. The second death that Harry had truly witnessed—I don't count you two, Lily and James.

"The members of his illegal Defense club went with him. I was one of those. I started training to fight, to be a Warrior Master. No one knew. I used a Time-Turner.

"Harry's sixth year. He found out that Voldemort had made Horcruxes. The diary was one—I won't go through them all. Then Professor Severus Snape killed Dumbledore, so Draco Malfoy wouldn't have to—Draco had been given a task by Voldemort, to kill Dumbledore, on pain of his family's death. So Dumbledore was dead and Draco and Snape on the run.

"Remus took over the Order of the Phoenix from Dumbledore. I trained even harder for Warrior Master status, and started training for Assassin Master. Again, no one ever knew.

"Ron and Hermione—Harry's friends—and Harry went on a search for the Horcruxes. It lasted a long time, two years perhaps, with the was raging on constantly. People died every day and Hogwarts became a stronghold of the light—a city—it was basically safer than most places.

"Voldemort and his Death Eaters found it amusing to change everyone into werewolves, set them against each other at full moon, inject them with silver—all these _lovely_ little experiments. I was made a werewolf, which enhanced my physical capabilities. Fortunately. And fortunately as well, on full moons I just had to fight with other werewolves, never the experiments, when I was in Death Eaters' hands then.

"I finished my training for both Assassin and Warrior Masterships. But in those two years, terrible things happened. Terrible things. Lucius Malfoy burnt down my childhood—my family's—home, with all of them still in it. Even Ron. Harry was down one best friend. Hermione was killed. So many people were killed—I killed Death Eaters—people who _might_ have been Death Eaters—I—"

"Mum, it's all right," Penelope whispered, leaning in towards Ginny. That calmed her down, along with Draco's slight squirming on her lap. The room was utterly silent.

"You were my father," Ginny said, pointing to Mr. Weasley. "You were my uncles, killed in the First Rising." She pointed to Gideon and Fabian Prewett. "I was the only Weasley left. I rose quickly, in the next year, to be the best of the best at what I do. But then…then Harry was killed. Our last hope.

"Voldemort conquered the world. We had failed.

"But still, there was some type of resistance left. I was one of those resisting, and we all did research on the magic that had saved Harry's life the first time he'd encountered Voldemort. It was all in a book that Lily had got hold of, called _Ofe Anciente Magickes_. It was Ancient Magic, older even than Dark Magic, and the power that Voldemort knew not, that had saved Harry.

"We used that book to create a new time-turner, one that could go into the future, and the past, and any amount of time at all. Here it is." Ginny reached under her shirt and pulled out the time-turner with the dials on it. "Remus sent me back in time to make sure kill Tom Riddle, make sure that none of that ever happened. I went."

Silence.

More silence.

Even Harry and Rose were totally quiet, not even moving.

"And…and now? Why were you—" Dumbledore ventured.

"Assassinating?" Ginny asked dryly, and Penelope gasped. "Yes, I've been using the time-turner once again to keep up my skills. And I've been…working. The world is still dangerous, Penelope. And only a few were actually people; most were demons and vampires and the bad werewolves."

"The…the way you put it, though…" Professor Flitwick squeaked, "it doesn't really sound that bad…"

Ginny, Penelope, the Marauders (except Peter, of course), and Lily rounded sharply on the tiny professor. But it was Penelope who spoke.

"Not that bad?" she hissed. "_Not that bad?_"

"Sssh, Penelope," Ginny said. "It's innocence. Let him preserve that."

"No! I want them to know—to see how you felt all those times when you would collapse—"

"Fine, then," Ginny said. "I'll show you. Not my worst memory, but…I'll use my own Pensieve, then." She ducked out of the room, but poked her head back in. "Penny, I'll even give them a demonstration of my skills in fighting." Penelope silently applauded as well as she could, given that she was holding Draco now. The room's atmosphere lightened.

When Ginny came back in, she had shucked off the outer, everyday clothes, and was garbed in her full assassin's gear, mask and everything. She held a Pensieve in her hands, one that was obviously already filled.

Ginny's appearance made all of them but Penelope and Dumbledore (he hid it well) jerk back in slight fear. But then Ginny set the Pensieve down and took off her mask, showing familiar brown eyes.

"Shall we—?" Dumbledore asked, and gestured to the Pensieve. Ginny nodded, so one by one they all touched the surface and fell into the memory. Ginny was the last, leaving the children behind, so she could start the memory playing.

In the memory, it was twilight, a golden twilight, with the full moon just over the horizon. Ten men and women and children were chained tightly together in a cage, a small-ish bird-cage-like contraption set in the ground.

Just in front of the line of chained humans were wolves bearing the snout and tail of a werewolf, standing slowly and stretching; growling in bloodlust at the humans, who trembled—but never screamed—o no, one must never scream when in the Death Eaters' hold—at the sight of their predators.

Ginny was among the chained, huddling down to the ground, still red hair shielding her face, looking any place but the werewolves pacing closer…and closer…and then they sprung.

It was a sudden release of tension as the wolves pounced onto the defenseless humans, but there were screams filling the air: the wolves were ripping and tearing and eating the flesh of the humans. One got to Ginny; ripped a chunk out of her back; and moved to the next.

Ginny—the real Ginny—winced and rubbed at that spot. It still hurt to this day.

The memory-Ginny twisted and changed; muscles ripping, new muscles forming, bones snapping, bones reshaping, instincts taking over, fur sprouting—the wolf was there.

Angry at the chains that bound it, the wolf ripped and tore at the wolves next to it, those wolves tearing back—a fight started, until a Death Eater outside the cage waved his wand a few times.

The chains sprung apart and the cage turned to pure silver.

Repelled by the poisonous bars, the wolves disregarded the delectable human scent in favor of fighting each other. A werewolf cub's body went flying out of the writhing mass of fur and blood, hitting the silver bars. It was dead instantly.

The fight went on and on, wolves dying, no sight of the memory-Ginny-wolf, until her body flew out. But her reflexes acted, twisting her around in midair—she touched the silver bars but so lightly and so little that she was back in the fight again after a minute.

So it went, the Death Eater watching with enjoyment and the real-people watching in morbid fascination, until the moonset. Then, with just as much pain, the wolves _shifted_ back to humans. Ginny's hair was pure white.

The Death Eater applauded.

"Let's get out of here," real-Ginny murmured, and pulled them out. She looked around and all but Penelope, Dumbledore, and Sirius had sickened looks plastered on their faces.

"Oh, dear, dear, Ginny," Lily sobbed, and threw herself at Ginny. Ginny took the hug as it came, comforting herself by her best friend's presence and obviously comforting Lily and well.

"Not the worst?" James asked, pale.

"No. Not the worst," Ginny responded. "You don't want to know the worst."

"Out," Penelope commanded everyone but the Marauders, Lily, and Annette. "Sorry for kicking you out, professors, Headmaster, everyone, but go."

They went.

"Thanks, Penelope," Remus said. "Could I hold Draco?"

"Sure," Penelope answered, and passed the little boy's limp body over.

They sat in silence for a while, just taking comfort in each other's presence. Now there were no secrets between them all…or almost none.

"Guys," Sirius said abruptly, standing up. "I have something to tell you all, that must remain as secret as everything that Ginny's just told you. I am a Spy Master of the highest degree."

"Aah," Ginny sighed in that moment of clarity. "I see. That's why…"

"Why didn't you tell me?" James asked, hurt. Remus echoed him.

"I work for the Department of Mysteries," Sirius said. "I…can't say much more…"

Ginny looked at Sirius closely. Her eyes penetrated all his layers of magic, all his layers of deception. "Excellent," she breathed, but then a look of extreme sympathy spread over her face. She closed her eyes.

"What—?" Penelope asked her mother. "Why—?"

"Who wrote those runes?" Ginny asked Sirius, her eyes closed. "I have a set as well. Death Eaters. I got caught, once."

Sirius realized what she was talking about and sat down heavily, closing his eyes as well. "My parents'…associate," he responded nonchalantly.

"What is going on here?" James asked loudly. "Were—Sirius, is she asking if you were tortured or something?"

"_Beenden Sie die Täuschung und zeigen Sie meine Schmerz,_" Sirius whispered, and all across his face, hands, exposed skin—also presumably all his body—lines were traces: scars, scars of runes.

"_Zeigen Sie die Narben, die ich halte_," Ginny also whispered, and near-identical runes were traced in scars along her skin.

"Pain…" Lily said, translating the runes. "Pain when you use magic…pain when you use blood…a compulsion to use magic and blood…pain in general to go with happiness…oh, Ginny…Oh _Sirius_…"

"They were angry," Sirius choked, finally telling someone other than the Healers. "Angry at me running away. So they got a…business partner…to come and do that to me. The Healers disabled them, but…well, the scars are still there."

"I fell into the hands of Death Eaters," Ginny said. "They did this to me…I escaped. The Healers disabled the runes. I am glad."

"Oh, Ginny," Annette sighed, "oh, Sirius." She grabbed both of them in a hug. "You really should get together. Two tortured people with serious psychological damage? Perfect!"

"Don't think it hasn't crossed my mind," Sirius and Ginny said, in near-perfect unison, and glanced at each other in surprise.

"Creepy," Remus said. "_Really_ creepy."

"And while we're at secrets," James piped up, "I have a few. I've…sort of got a title…it's…uh…"

"Spit it out," Lily prompted, "they _don't know_. They won't be able to guess."

"I'm called…the Champion of the Light…"

"Sweet Merlin!" Sirius gasped. "I _never_ knew!"

Ginny just sat back in her chair and blinked.

"I'm a Secret-Keeper," Lily offered.

Silence.

Even more silence.

Yet more silence.

"I'm called the Teacher," Remus mentioned.

Shocked silence.

"I'm a Spellcrafter," Annette said happily, speaking to the ceiling.

….

….

Even the narrator—the omniscient narrator—was shocked into silence. Strange.

"These kids," Penelope said, motioning toward the now-sleeping Harry and Rose, and Draco, "are going to be pretty good at something."

"Understatement, Penny," Lily snorted. "They'll be amazing."

"Yeah."

The group fell into silence again, this silence comfortable at having no more secrets. No more secrets.

Well, except for Lily; but the secrets she carried were others' secrets.

And Ginny felt herself healing.

**A/N (#2!): There you are. Bye.**


	8. THE FINAL CHAPTER: Cue Dramatic Music

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**A/N: LAST CHAPPIE!**

That was it.

That was the end of the angst-fest; Ginny began to heal.

Draco was raised properly, as was Penelope. With both a father and a mother: Ginny and Sirius finally gave into their feelings and got married.

Annette and Remus married, eventually, when Annette's husband divorced her; and they had lots of children who were quietly brilliant; and one of them married Penelope despite the over five-year age difference. Draco ended up to be gay and married one Blaise Zabini; Harry married a nice girl named Luna Lovegood; Rose married a sweetie named Neville Longbottom; and Ginny watched it all in great amusement.

Life was good and memories were only memories.

Fin.

**A/N (#2!): Bye. For the last time.**


End file.
